An Old Flame in the Snow
by The Sneaky Fox
Summary: Years after breaking up, Miranda decides to finally darken Shepard's doorstep in an attempt to fix a problem she thought couldn't be resolved. Rated M for explicit content.


A/N: I suppose this makes me somewhat of a traitor, posting a story not related to Tali. I've always found the Miranda romance a very interesting one - initially I disliked her character and general role in Mas Effect, but a replay of the trilogy has warmed my heart to the woman. So I'm trying my hand at something different. I'm not jumping ships or anything of the sort, but her relationship with Shepard is a breath of fresh air for me after being so focused on Tali for so long. I'll likely post more Miranda stuff since I had so much fun writing this, however my other stories are still active.

And fair lemon warning, for any of those who find explicit content uncomfortable.

Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

**An Old Flame in the Snow**

She had never thought of Shepard as much of a mountain man. The only blade she'd ever seen him wield was one from an omni-tool. But now if the locals were to be believed, he'd traded it in for a simple woodcutter's axe.

She slushed up the horrid slope that led to his cabin, miffed that he had chosen such a place to live. Money was no object for a retired spectre, but he'd condemned himself to a humble one-story home near a reconstruction site on Earth. And of course this site had to be in the coldest part of the whole damn world; a small hamlet in the eastern part of Svalbard, the tip of the tip of the world. Miranda could have easily taken a shuttle, but she had submitted to her own cowardice and decided to walk the last mile or so to collect her thoughts and her courage.

She hadn't seen him in years. And the last time she had, it hadn't been friendly or pleasant. If she was being completely honest, she'd been a cruel bitch to him. Her entire life she hadn't cared about her own sterility, but after dating John for one year it had consumed her waking mind. The prospect of never being able to start a family, of being shut out from a normal life from own her abnormality, had made her too bitter for words.

Or rather, too bitter for constructive words. Their days had dissolved into petty arguments, and their nights had been spent in tense silence or even solitude. And eventually, Shepard gave up, and she was left to her own devices.

After that she'd spent those years trying to find something to keep her busy: missions, rescues, political assignments, anything to keep her hands moving and her brain numb. It had worked, for the most part, but the past couple of weeks had betrayed her with freedom—the galaxy was starting to heal, and was running short on jobs to keep her occupied.

And in those weeks she thought. And thought. And thought more. And had finally come to the conclusion that she would never get any peace of mind without talking to Shepard one way or another.

Which now found her hiking towards… something. Good or bad, she couldn't tell, but it was something that would ultimately decide what she was going to do with her life.

She spotted his cabin far too soon, and was at his doorstep even sooner. A mittened hand knocked shakily on his door, and Miranda felt a shiver go through her, though not because of the cold.

A beep was her response, and a small orb popped out from the door's console.

"Commander J. Shepard is not at home right now. His estimated time back is approximately three point two-seven hours. If you would like to leave a message or contact—"

"Ugh," she muttered, walking away from the door. Three hours? She'd wanted some time, but not _that _long. She'd lose her nerve by then and run back somewhere much warmer.

"Of course you had to be gone," she breathed, then saw tracks in the snow, leading towards a narrow dirt path. Apparently he was not fond of shuttles either.

"Where did he go?"

"That is classif—"

"Nevermind," she barked at the door, then repeated the question into her omni-tool. The response was much more favourable this time, and she learned that the direction of his tracks led toward the main construction site of the town.

"Much better," she said to herself, rubbing her hands together as she started to head towards the site. She idly fit her boots into his much larger footprints as she walked, smiling fondly to herself.

* * *

One good thing about snowsuits was that they hid a lot—Miranda immediately noticed that there were a great deal of people around, many of them men. The last thing she needed was catcalling and unwanted attention. She felt exposed enough as it was.

But even so, she got the impression that she did not belong here. People stared at her oddly, and not in the way she was used to. She wondered if they recognised her and objected morally to the idea of their Great Hero's bitch ex-girlfriend paying him a visit. It wouldn't be completely unwarranted, but it also wasn't anyone's business, and she kept her head high as she approached the site.

It was impressive, she had to admit; the town had the unfortunate luck of having a Reaper fall directly on top of them, and much of the construction was built around its massive corpse. She saw that it was heavily picked apart, its bones rising up from the snow and in many places it was completely gone. It was a haunting sight, and even sad in a way, to see the ultimate apex predator reduced to piecemeal scavenging. Still, it was no less intimidating or gruesome.

"Oi, what you doin' here lady? Not s'posed to be so close to this fing," a man called loudly, lumbering up to her. He was massive and very bald, and she could see beads of sweat frozen on his forehead. "You'll need a hard hat and some gloves and—"

She winced at his breath. "I'm looking for Shepard," she said calmly.

"Lots of people are," he replied, grinning. "W'makes you so special, eh?"

"I'm… an old friend of his," she said delicately.

"I bet you are," he muttered, giving her a crude once-over. "Well, whatever then. He's over there if you wanna talk to 'im." The man pointed towards a low scaffold near the head of the Reaper. "Just don't take too long—he's doin' good work with that biotics of his."

"Thank you," she said genuinely, nodding to the man. She felt his eyes on her ass the entire trip towards the scaffold, though her heart was beating too loudly for her to pay it any mind. She crunched to a stop at the foot of the metal structure, looking up. And up.

Miranda hadn't realised how massive the things truly were; it was so large that it blotted out the sun from where she stood, and cast a gloomy shadow on the whole one side of it. Big lights had been placed all around the scaffolds, illuminating its metal carapace and casting long, thin shadows of workers against it. She hadn't thought a dead Reaper could get any creepier, but the locals had accomplished it very well.

"Miranda?"

Fear shot through her at the sudden sound of his voice, and she turned.

Blue eyes met hers, confused and fierce. He'd grown a substantial amount of hair since she'd last seen him; his once-neat military buzz was a tangle of dark hair that brushed his forehead and temples, and his face was covered with thick growth. He wore a fisherman's sweater, a quilted cream colour, and dark, tough jeans. Covered in snow and dirt and sweat, he was breathtaking. Her tounge tied up in her mouth.

"Shepard, I—um, hey," she said awkwardly. "He—someone said you were over here and I wanted to, to talk to you."

"Did they," he murmured, looking away from her. "I… what was it that you wanted?" She picked up a note of hesitation in his voice, as if he didn't want to know the answer.

"To talk to you," she said quietly. "If you're not too busy, I mean—"

He shrugged, and bits of ice rolled off his sweater. "I suppose I can take my lunch break now." He looked up at the workers above them, and shouted something to the group. Her translator kicked in and told her it was a slavic trade dialect, and then he motioned for her to follow.

She fell into step beside him, butterflies in her stomach. "You look good," she said timidly, frowning at the high sound of her own voice.

"And you look tired," he replied, a small smile accompanying the observation.

She sighed. "I am. Been having a lot of trouble sleeping lately and… had too much time on my hands."

He chuckled at that. "A Lawson with free time is a dangerous thing."

The urge to poke him in the ribs, as she had done so many times before, was strong, and the only thing that held her back was formality's sake. It was so easy to fall back into the natural rhythm of conversation with him, addictively so. He spoke as if they had only parted an hour before and not years. It was both nerve-wracking and soothing.

They were headed to what looked like a large, vacant hall. It reminded her of those long storage hangars for airships that military bases used, except with that added charm of tiny smoke stacks hinting at warm fires within. She shivered again, rubbing her arms.

"Not used to the cold?"

"No," she muttered, frowning. "Damned if I know why you live here."

His mouth twisted. "Easy to forget in a place like this."

She winced at the barb, but said nothing. In truth she had no idea what she was going to say to him once they got to wherever he was taking them. She'd meticulously outlined what she would say to him and anticipated a hundred different paths the conversation could lead, but now that she was actually _with _Shepard, her mind was stalling and she was struggling to form sentences, let alone full-blown discussion. _What the hell's wrong with you?_

People called out in greeting to him as they walked towards the hall, and he waved back in a familiar way that made her feel even more like an outsider. "The locals seems to like you," she commented, steering away from deeper topics.

"Lots of work to do and not enough people to do it," he said humbly.

"And here the Alliance is telling me there's no more positions to fill on jobs," she murmured, frowning. A small laugh escaped her. "Or maybe they just don't want me around to bother them any more. I have been rather forward with my desire to help."

"Imagine that," he said dryly, and she felt a faint blush colour her cheeks. She put a hand on his arm and he stopped, looking down at her.

"I… I'm glad to see you," she said firmly. "Really."

"So am I," he replied. "But… why'd you come here? For a visit? You were… pretty clear on where we stood last time we talked."

"I know, I—" She felt her eyes sting, despite her earlier promise to herself not to cry. "That's why I came here. To talk to you about—about us."

He nodded. "Let's go inside then. Looks like it's about to snow again."

* * *

Although the coffee resembled something close to a scalding brown paste, she drank it greedily. It warmed her insides and gave her something to stall time with should she suddenly run out of things to say.

Her reaction was rather ridiculous; even as tightly strung as Shepard appeared to be right now, he still exuded the same calming warmth that had initially attracted her to him. But even so, he was the only man to make her afraid of her own words, and it was highly irritating.

"So you've been doing work for the Alliance, then?" Shepard asked, sipping on his own cup. He'd pulled them into the hangar, which had been converted to a communal sleeping and living area for those whose houses had been destroyed by the fallen Reaper. They had graciously given him a small slice of space in the cramped area to rest should he be too tired to walk home, and now they sat on two tables-turned-chairs inside the invisible parameters of his "home".

She nodded, and unzipped her coat to pull out a badge from her sweater pocket. "I'm now an official SA operative," Miranda said, holding up the small piece of blue metal. "They seem to have forgiven my past connections to Cerberus."

"They did for me, too," he reminded her. "But it sounds like you've been working hard; they don't just hand those things out."

"Don't you get any news of the galaxy up here?" she asked, then held up a hand to stop him from speaking. "Nevermind. Stupid question. You've barely got working coffee pots, let alone an Extranet connection."

He chuckled. "Coffee's no better than what it was on the Normandy. But we do get some news; I heard Garrus had become a Spectre, and Liara was promoted to the Council's chief informatics specialist."

She nodded. "About two years ago, yes. Do you… ever hear from anyone?"

He shrugged. "Once in a while. Tali paid me a visit about a month ago, brought me some plants from Rannoch."

Despite herself, a small spike of jealousy flared inside her. She knew the quarian had always carried a torch for Shepard, and Tali was kind and soft and innocent in a way Miranda never could be. However, it didn't appear that anything had come of the visit besides a few plants, judging by the disinterested way he spoke.

"They do miss you," she said softly. "I know that everyone's got their own lives, but… we aren't as tightly knit as we used to be." She wasn't exactly buddy-buddy with his whole crew, but she maintained a respectful comradery with many of them throughout the years, and it suited her well.

"You mean when we were together," he said bluntly, and she looked away from his gaze.

"Yes, I do mean that."

"Miri—Miranda," he corrected himself. "I don't know what to say. What the hell even happened? Did I… for so long I kept trying to figure out if I'd done something, or said something, or… I don't know, anything. But I never found an answer."

"You did say something," she said softly, and his eyes snapped to her. "You told me we could have a normal life."

His brows drew together. "You're going to have to give me more than that."

"It—we can't have a normal life," she said fiercely. "Everywhere we go, the media's hounding you. Everything we do ends up on TV, or the news, or—your girlfriend is an ex-terrorist that tried to convert you, and I… I can't even have children." Her vision blurred with tears. "What kind of life is that? Where everything we do is plastered on public domains? Where the only thing we can ever be is a couple and not a family? I—god, I'm not normal, and you… I just add to the crazy."

"Do you think I'd have a different life with some 'normal' woman?" he replied.

"Yes. You could at least be a fath—"

"We'll adopt, or foster," he interrupted harshly. "I don't care about that, Miranda."

"Why not?" she asked loudly, then quieted down when someone looked their way. "That's—it's normal to want to be a parent—"

"Stop saying normal. I hate that word." His hand raked through his hair, which as slick with melted snow. "I won't ever have a normal life no matter who I'm with."

"But I—"

"But what? You think _I'm_ normal?" he said harshly. "I'm a half-robot who's been resurrected by terrorists and can throw shit with my brain. Do you think that's _normal?"_

"You're only that way because I made you that way!"

"Okay, so I'm a corpse, then, if you hadn't done that."

"That's—no! That doesn't matter, Shepard!"

"Why the hell not?"

"Because—because—" she punched her seat, then cried out when her knuckles radiated with pain. "Ow! What the hell is this made of?"

To her eternal embarrassment, he suddenly burst out laughing, to the point where he threatened to fall off his seat. Tears dotted the corner of his eyes, and he shook in place with mirth. It drew the attention of the surrounding area, only serving to make her more self-conscious.

"We aren't done talking, dammit! This is serious!" she barked, her face going beet-red. She cradled her hand, wanting to cry and laugh and punch him all at once.

"Oh Jesus," he snorted, wiping his eyes. He coughed to stifle his own laughter, and it only half-worked. "Miri, god—you're exactly the same as you've always been."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"It means—" He coughed again, chuckling. "That you still want all the answers. You need to plan out every detail of our lives before anything even happens."

"And what's wrong with that?" she said indignantly.

"You can't plan out anything! When I first met you I swore I'd hate you till the day I died, and now look at us."

"That still doesn't solve my problem—I can only add to the… well, insanity of your life, not make it better."

"And you think I have a problem with that?"

She frowned. "No, I know you do. You said you wanted a normal life—"

"Well, I sure as hell won't be getting one, so I may as well embrace my own insanity, as you call it." He finally sobered. "Miranda, I don't care that you used to be the Illusive Man's right hand man, or that you're a control freak, or—"

She finally gave in to one desire, and that turned out to be punching him. She walloped him in the arm, and he laughed again. He grabbed her hand, the one she'd gravely injured on the table, and smoothed it between his much larger palms.

"I still love you," he murmured. "And I probably won't ever stop loving you."

"Probably?" she said haughtily, arching a brow.

"Well, I did say you can't ever plan anything out. But out of anything else, you're my biggest certainty." He pulled her mitten off, playing with her fingers. "And what I was going to say before you hit me, was that I don't care if you can't have children. We could live on Tuchanka with feral salarian orphans as children and I'd be fine with it."

"Really, Tuchanka?"

"Well, maybe someplace less deadly, but you get my meaning," he said, smiling at her. "Was this… was this what this was all about, before? The fighting?"

She nodded mournfully. "Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me? Could have saved us a lot of trouble." He sounded angry now, and his grip tightened on their hands.

"Because I knew you'd come up with some gallant speech that would make me believe you really didn't care about children or my—abnormalities."

"Your abnormalities are pretty hot," he said with a grin. "And what, you don't believe me now?"

"No, I do. That's the problem." She looked at their hands, sighing. "You're giving something up for me that you shouldn't have to. Not after everything you've been through."

"Well, does my living in the media's pocket bother you?"

"Not particularly—"

"You're a damn bad liar, Miri."

She huffed. "Fine. It bothers me a little. Kind of irritating, really." She frowned at him. "I see your point. But I'm just giving up some quiet time—not having children is more than a little 'irritating'."

"And?" he prodded.

"And what?"

"And who cares? You're worth the sacrifice. I could date anyone I wanted to, and I'd have to give something up that I'd rather not live without. But with any other woman I wouldn't want to. With you, I do."

"But… why?"

He stood up. "Ask me that again and I'm tossing you off this island."

"Just—ugh, wait!" She stood up as well and grabbed his arm. "Can't you at least see my point of view?"

"I can," he admitted. "And not having children—well, it isn't ideal and wouldn't be my first choice, but like I said, I don't want anyone else."

"You mean it?"

"Have you—"

"That ten, fifteen years down the road, you won't be fed up and leave?" She swallowed hard. "Because I don't—I don't think I'd be able to survive that. I _need _to know, Shepard."

"I don't know," he said quietly. "I can't give you an answer, Miri. But I do know that I want to do everything I can to make us happy. And if that isn't the answer you want, you have to tell me now."

"It—" Tears finally pulled away from her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. She wiped her face, swallowing hard. "It's the best answer you can give me, so yes, it is what I want."

She saw his face quietly light up, and his eyes shone brightly. "That's good. Because I don't think I'd survive either."

She laughed. "That was rather dramatic, I know." She moved to hug him, but to her surprise he stepped back from her arms.

"You hurt me pretty bad, Miranda," he murmured. "I can… understand what happened now, and maybe even sympathise, but… one talk doesn't make up for three years of pain."

"I know I did," she said sadly, looking at her boots. "And my first order of business is to try and make up for that, if… if you'll let me?"

"I think maybe I will." His voice was tentative, as if he didn't know the answer himself. "It might take a while, but—"

She grabbed his hair and pressed her mouth hard into his. He breathed deeply and she felt his arms wrap around her.

A few years worth of tension and regret burst up, more than she ever realised that she carried around, and she pressed her body into his. Her damn snowsuit and his sweater got in the way, but she enjoyed the taste of him too much to pull away.

A few cheers and whistles were directed their way, and Miranda remembered that they were in a longhouse. She pulled away from him with great reluctance, and was thoroughly pleased with herself when she felt him follow her mouth.

"John—" she laughed when he pressed his lips to her neck. "Maybe someplace, ah, more private?"

"Mmm," he hummed. "I'll tell them I'm not feeling well."

"Oh, I'm sure they'll believe you now," she said dryly. "We've drawn quite the crowd."

"They saw you; they'll understand."

* * *

The walk back was painfully long. She tried to make light conversation to pass the time and distract herself, but the longer they spoke the less they had to say, until Shepard was finally reduced to strained one-word answers.

Had it been any other place than a frozen hell, she'd not have bothered to wait till they were indoors. But because it was, she kept herself at bay. She didn't want frostbite, nor did she want a half-assed session in the snow while she still wore her boots and jacket.

The last few moments were spent in tense silence until they finally saw his cabin. Both of them sped to the door in a near sprint, and Shepard mashed his lips against hers before the door fully opened.

They tumbled inside, knocking over the shovel standing inside his door and making her trip over the handle. They fell into the heavy carpet covering his floor, and she melted into his hard frame, ignoring his near-crushing weight and the bruise she most certainly had from the fall.

He popped the buttons on her coat and tugged hard against the material. She shoved it off, urging him to do the same. Droplets of cool water fell on her neck and cheeks as he pulled off his damp sweater, and she pulled his face down again for another kiss.

She was already breathing hard, the excitement of being so close to another person, especially someone as electrifying as Shepard, almost foreign to her after years of busy work and solitude. However, he didn't seem to be in any better state; she could feel him hard against her leg through his jeans already, and his movements were rapid and almost shaky, as if he couldn't decide what part of her to touch first.

He yanked on her sweater, pushing his hand under the material and reaching eagerly for her bra. She gasped and arched into him, helping to him to reach the clasp at the back.

"God dammit," he muttered, tugging on it. "Why are these things so—hard to get off?"

She laughed, quietly pleased to know that he wasn't used to undoing a woman's bra. Maybe he'd spent the whole time up here in solitude, too. "Let me," she offered, awkwardly bending her arm behind herself and expertly unsnapping the clasp. "There—"

He rolled her sweater up, pressing her into the carpet. Shepard pulled her bra away and groaned at the sight of her breasts. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously close to a prayer, and moulded his mouth and palms to her skin.

She clutched at his head, and felt her legs wrap around his waist instinctually. Although he was somewhat clumsy in his touch, she barely gave it any notice. Neither of them could really keep it together, and she pulled angrily on his belt, annoyed that it wasn't already off.

Miranda chuckled when he did nothing, his attention wholly focused on her chest, and decided she'd shove the clothing off by herself. She easily kicked off her boots, then pushed Shepard's off with her own feet, all still beyond the notice of the man. Then she began shimmying off her pants, which was extremely difficult with Shepard on top of her.

"Stop moving," he murmured, kissing a large slope.

"Then take your damn pants off!"

He laughed into her breast. "Bossy, bossy—"

She rolled, shoving him off her and switching their positions. Now she straddled his hips, and had a much better vantage point.

"Actually, I think I like this better," he said, eyes roaming over her exposed upper body. "Much better." She tossed away the sweater that had been balled up near her chin, and continued her quest to unclothe her distracted boyfriend.

He didn't make it easy; his hands formed eagerly around her breasts, massaging and kneading the flesh. she moaned, shivering, and gasped when his lips pressed against one nipple. She undid his buckle and popped the button of his jeans. Immediately she saw his member push upwards when the material slacked, and she smoothed her fingers over it. Shepard moaned into her skin, and his arms tightened around her.

It was his turn to tug on her pants, pulling the smooth clothing down over her hips. When it reached her thighs, his brows shot up nearly to his hairline.

"You're not wearing underwear?" he asked, and his shock made her grin.

"I was hoping our conversation would go over well," she breathed, pulling one leg off of him for a moment to quickly kick off her pants. The material caught on her foot and she growled, shoving it off with a hand. "If anything's difficult to get off, it's pant—"

He grabbed her hips and pulled her on top of him again, now fully nude. She forced his shirt off with an irritated hand, and began rolling down his jeans enough to speed things along.

He rose up and pulled her against him, and she gasped when their bare skin touched. She rubbed into him, unable to get enough of the intoxicating friction of touching his skin. He shoved his pants down a few more inches and moved his boxers out of the way, freeing himself.

"Oh god," she murmured, brushing her fingers against him. God, did he ever feel good. "Hurry up already," she demanded testily. "I ca—"

He didn't bother to let her finish, and pressed into her with one fluid stroke. She cried out and grabbed at his shoulders, breathing hard. He immediately began a quick, even rhythm inside her, rocking her in his arms.

Miranda closed her eyes and leaned into him, it being the only thing she was currently capable of. She hadn't felt this good in a very long time, and Shepard seemed to easily remember what to do and how to move.

Her hips rose and fell on him of their own accord, and her hands moved frantically over his body, wanting to touch everything all at once. God, had sex always been this overwhelming? To her surprise she couldn't completely remember, but quickly forgot that when he turned his attention to her breasts again.

His movements were rough and rapid, pulling and kneading her skin till she thought they'd bruise, but she was just as rough, clawing his back and rolling her hips quickly down onto his. They smashed together, both moulding perfectly and leaving dents or scratches wherever they collided. It was enough to make her realise she'd not last very long with the pace of their coupling, but it felt too good to slow anything down.

Evidently, Shepard felt the same way. In the middle of a rough kiss he shuddered and spasmed in her arms, groaning into her neck as he reached his own peak.

"—Sorry, sorr…." He breathed heavily, trailing off. "Shit, I… I didn't mean to do that." He kissed her again, more softly, and Miranda felt a small drop of sweat fall from his forehead.

She laughed, then pitched forward from the resulting sensation it caused in her lower belly. "That's—that's fine. Fine…." Her brain no longer even tried to work. Although Shepard had found his release, she was still yearning desperately for hers, and she gave a few half-assed strokes of her hips to lull her frustration. It only served to excite her more, and she let her head drop against his shoulder.

Then she felt his hand weave in between their bodies, and his fingers slid over her folds, ones which still held him inside her. She gasped at the contact, and began to rock on top of him again when his hand rubbed against her with a steady, wonderful friction.

"God…." she moaned, gasping into his neck. He hadn't yet gone soft inside her, and the dual sensation of him filling her and his hand roughly rubbing her clitoris made her legs shake and her hands grip his shoulders hard.

She followed his example soon after, far too quickly for her tastes, and shivered against him as she came. He sucked in a breath at the feeling of her contracting around him, still highly sensitive.

They both shook for a moment before collapsing on the floor, their quick moment of passion draining them.

He brushed her hair out of her face after a long minute of simply existing on the carpet, looking at her. His eyes were still bright with excitement, and his skin had a light sheen to it. "We should… do this again."

She laughed. "Yes, we should—considering you only lasted about a minute in."

"And you followed pretty quick after," he reminded her.

"I still win."

"No," he argued. "You didn't have sex with you. _I _win."

"You're right, all I got was a smelly mountain man," she murmured, perching her chin on a hand. "He was pretty hot though."

"Mmm," he hummed, kissing her free hand. "I'll have to one-up that guy then and do a better job."

"Yes, you will."

She laid her head on his chest, quieting down. The beat of his heart was steady and strong under her ear, and she felt her eyes begin to droop. Although completely naked, she was extremely warm—Shepard was a furnace, his skin radiating heat.

"I think," he said softly. "I forgive you."

She chuckled. "Sex with you once is enough?"

"I said think, not have. I'll need more convincing than that." He sighed. "How about you stay naked for a whole week. Then we'll call it even."

"It's pretty cold in here," she observed. "I don't know if I'd stand a week."

"Well, we'll just have to find something to keep you warm, then."

"So we will."


End file.
